


Save You

by StarvingMe



Series: Inqed Words [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, I have other headcanon of these two, I wrote the sad, I'll have to write them more often, I'm not sorry anymore, Sad, Sad Fluff, The Inquisitor is an angel, The Wordsmith is a demon, They are very nice together!, that's really all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvingMe/pseuds/StarvingMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor winds up in a bar, bleeding under her jacket and drinking everything she can get her hands on when a familiar face shows up.  Serves her right for picking one of Wordsmith's favorite haunts...</p><p> </p><p>I wrote this initially as a little surprise thing out of nowhere for Wordsmith--also because I had nightmares and the Inquisitor does not stop talking when she's upset...</p><p>I am very glad you like it, Wordsmith!  (This is the saddest fluff I've written in a long while...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zaidnovi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaidnovi/gifts).



“Well, that's something you don't see every day.”

The Inquisitor was regretting her choice in establishments as soon as she heard that familiar voice behind her. Trying not to outwardly flinch, she took a tip of her drink and straightened up, forcing a smile on her face.

“Well, you always speak so highly of the place, I thought I'd just... pop in and see how it is,” she said, turning to face the suited demon. She immediately regretted it as the world spun for a moment before righting itself again. Keeping that smile on her face, she held up her glass. “Join me, Wordsmith, if you've a mind.”

If Wordsmith knew something was wrong, she didn't betray it, her smile widening just a little before she moved to occupy the stool next to her. “I'll have a glass of your finest,” she said before motioning to the Inquisitor as she turned to face the bar again. “And an ice water for my feathered friend here.”

“Hey, now!” the brunette said, sniffing indignantly. “I am doing just fine with my... this... Whatever this delightful pink, fruity drink is...”

“I see... And... how many of those have you had?” the Wordsmith asked, the smile in her voice, even as the Inquisitor refused to look at her friend.

“Oh, just like one or two,” she answered, waving the question off.

“Nine,” the barkeep corrected as he placed a glass of water in front of her.

The Inquisitor gaped, frowning at him in all her red-cheeked fury. “Betrayer! I'm quite capable of drinking!”

“And four different kinds of beer, two ales, and a shot of whiskey that she definitely didn't like,” the bartender added, shaking his head.

“ _That_ ,” the Inquisitor hissed, “was  _vile_! I don't grasp the obsession with the stuff—it was beyond awful, it just burned everything and tasted worse!”

“I see,” Wordsmith said, regarding her somewhat inebriated friend closely. Red eyes glinted behind sunglasses as she reached for her own glass. There was something off about her friend that she couldn't put her finger on, though between her red cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, it was easy to tell she was upset over something. “And what exactly was so bad that you needed more alcohol than your poor vessel could take?” she asked, giving her friend a look over her sunglasses as she took a slow sip of the amber liquid.

For a moment, the Inquisitor couldn't breathe. She wanted so badly to say something, to tell her friend about what had transpired... Wordsmith would understand... She might even be willing to help...

_ For a price _ , that dark voice added in the back of her head. 

All at once, her shoulders drooped, her eyes falling to her glass. Who was she kidding? The Wordsmith was a demon—she kept tabs on the Inquisitor because she was a foolhardy little angel. She trusted the demon with too much, both of her life and of herself. No, this would be her burden to bear. 

Shifting a little on her stool, she gave a slight shrug, careful not to move too much. The stitches protested, and she worried the bandages would start seeping again—the dark jacket was only going to hide so much—but she almost didn't care anymore. Let them bleed. Let the wounds open.

_ She'll see _ , that voice sang cruelly,  _ and she'll know just how useless you are now... Who wants a mangled little birdy that can't even fly? _

“It's nothing,” Inquisitor said, shaking her head a little with a sigh. “Just another bad day at the office...”

If she knew otherwise, Wordsmith didn't let on, simply watching the Inquisitor as she gulped down the rest of the sweet drink. When she tried to order another, she found the water pressed into her hand, blue eyes flicking over to red ones as she frowned. “Please... Your meat suit will thank me in the morning,” she said, a faint smile growing as she saw the pout on the angel's face.

She didn't argue further, taking the glass and downing it quickly, the cold chasing the burn and turning it inward, making her shiver all over.

“That's a good angel,” Wordsmith said, smiling a little as she nodded to her friend. “Come along now; it's going to rain soon, and I want to get your dry-clean-only ass back to your apartment.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Inquisitor stood out in the rain quietly, watching Wordsmith try to flag down a cab, grumbling. She was about to offer to just walk, it wasn't that far, really, she would be fine, when the heavens opened up around them. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the sky, head spinning for a moment as she realized just how much she'd had to drink, hoping that the cool rain might help clear her head a little.

Wordsmith swore to herself, shaking a fist and making more than one obscene gesture as another taxi passed them by. She wanted to yell at them all—she didn't like being wet, she didn't like being caught in the rain in her good suit, and she didn't like the thought of the angel, in the state she was already in, standing in the rain. Scowling, she tried to wave down another as she glanced back to tell the Inquisitor to just wait inside for a minute when she stopped.

The Inquisitor stood there in the rain, face tilted up to the sky. Her dress was soaked, plastered to her skin. Her coat hung off her shoulders as she opened her arms as if to welcome the rain into her. Brown waves clung to her face and shoulders as she stared up at the clouds, the rain plinking on her glasses and the small winged clips she was so fond of wearing in her hair. She looked peaceful...

The calm only lasted a few moments before her face fell and she let out a choked sound, a sob ripping through her as she wept. Frozen for a moment, the Wordsmith could only just react as the Inquisitor fell to her knees. Rushing over to her, she hesitated, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder as she leaned over the angel. 

When she only got an anguished cry in response, the demon knelt next to her, trying to tug her jacket back onto her shoulders. Slinging one of the angel's arms across her own shoulders, she started to rise to her feet, surprised to find the angel leaning heavily against her side, weeping as she refused to stand. “Come on, now, Cass,” she said, frowning as she tried to get the Inquisitor up again. “This isn't the time for your—whoa!” Wordsmith cried out as the Inquisitor slumped bonelessly at her side. She was about to start swearing and leave her friend in the rain when she heard it through her sobs.

“What have I done? Why did I... I didn't... I just... It's my fault... I... I don't know what to do... I can't... I'm not... I just... I was just... doing my job...”

Red eyes looked down, watching the Inquisitor's head loll to the side, her hair spilling over her shoulders and hiding her face as the rain fell around them in sheets. She stayed like that, at the angel's side as she slowly calmed, letting her cry for as long as she needed before she shifted to help her up again. This time, the Inquisitor didn't protest, steps sluggish as she walked, eyes glassy as she was helped into a cab. That comforting arm around her shoulders pressed against stitches, and she could feel the wet bandages seeping through the cloth, but she didn't care anymore. She leaned into the Wordsmith's shoulder as her eyes drifted closed, letting herself doze off as she relaxed.

It would be okay. She would be fine. Wordsmith would help fix this... She would make it stop hurting...

Stiffly, she brought her arm around the demon, letting her eyes drift closed. The last thing she remembered as heavy sleep washed over her was the smell of whiskey, the coppery scent of blood, and the warmth at her side.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When the Inquisitor passed out in the cab, Wordsmith almost groaned. Here she was, wet through in her good suit, hair a mess, headband probably a bit crooked (ah, she could fix that later), and now she had a very drunk angel, unconscious and probably drooling into her best suit.

The things I do for friends, she thought wryly to herself as she tried to at least help wring out the Inquisitor's hair. It wasn't up in her customary twist today, she couldn't help noticing. The voluminous curls were even more unmanageable now that they were dripping wet. Sighing, she tried to at least brush them down when something sharp brushed her fingers.

Jerking her hand back, she glanced at the tiny nick, barely more than a scratch, before glancing down at the Inquisitor again. There, hidden in her curls, was the white clip, glass cut and formed into the shape of a tiny wing. Reaching out to touch it, she frowned as one of the feathers broke off. Leaning close, she saw the hairline cracks through the clip, proof it had been broken—smashed, actually, from the looks of it, and then painstakingly put back together again. The glue wasn't holding well, it seemed, another part breaking off as she reached to release the clip and gather the broken pieces. Shifting just a little, she tucked the shards into a pocket inside her jacket. 

Another of many things to ask the Inquisitor when she woke...

Smoothing the now-freed curls, she started to get comfortable again, knowing it was some time before they'd get to the Angel's loft. She didn't even think about it, letting the Inquisitor burrow into her side as she slept.

Silence filled the back of the cab as the Wordsmith's thoughts wandered. Something was bothering her friend. Something big, judging by the breakdown. She hadn't seen the Inquisitor this shaken up since... well, ever. The Inquisitor was a passionate person, bright and fueled by something brilliant and otherworldly, but she'd never been this intensely bothered by something... Not even that time when she was running dangerously low on grace...

The stray thought jerked her out of her musings. She instinctively felt out for it, for that gentle, pulsing, almost burning sensation, that well of spirit and power within the Inquisitor, her  _ grace _ ...

It was gone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When she woke up again, she wondered if she had finally died. She didn't hurt, and she felt comfortable, and she was lying on something soft...

The world swarmed in on her quiet little bubble though, and ruined that hope for her as every little bruise, scrape, and stitch screamed at her. 

Maybe this was Hell, she mused as the headache behind her eyes came to the fore. Maybe she'd actually died, and this was her punishment. She could handle that, she supposed... Wordsmith went to Hell sometimes... Maybe Wordsmith would visit her...

Her eyes opened blearily, looking around the room. Wherever they were, it wasn't her loft. This was a lot nicer. The mound of pillows she was sprawled upon spoke of expensive taste, the soft sheets around her echoing the sentiment. Shifting again, she flinched at the sudden rush of pain before she stilled, biting back the pained cry.

“Damn it all...”

“Well, someone's finally awake,” a familiar voice said, drawing the Inquisitor's attention as she stiffly turned, trying to pull the sheets around her. In the corner of the room, perched in a comfortable chair, was Wordsmith, thumbing idly through a newspaper. “Was starting to think you'd go the way of Sleeping Beauty and never wake up...”

The Inquisitor frowned a little at that, shakily sitting up before she started to crawl to the edge of the bed, determined to make it without complaint. As she reached the edge, she was startled as a glass of water appeared in her line of sight. Looking up, she frowned at Wordsmith but took the water with a shaking hand, sitting at the edge of the bed and sipping it carefully. She took the medicine that was offered, swallowing it back obediently as she half-listened to what Wordsmith said.

“It's not good on your meat suit to drink like that, you know... You really need to lay off the alcohol for a good, long while... Once you've finished the water, I'll make you some tea—it's the black that you like, right? Lots of sugar, I remember that...” Inquisitor nodded numbly as she listened, finishing her water before getting up shakily to make her way over to the chair opposite where Wordsmith had been sitting. She didn't even think about the bandages until she flopped back into the chair, the painful jolt tearing a half-scream from her. She struggled to sit up again, flailing stiffly before strong arms pulled her forward, letting her lean into her friend as the pain pulsed.

The Inquisitor didn't move for a long time, just holding tightly to her friend's new suit. Taking slow breaths as the pain began to subside, she forced herself to focus on small things, details, let the world slip itself into focus a little at a time. Wordsmith's suit was a deep blue-grey, the tie bright red. She could almost count the threads in the pattern as she forced herself to focus on it.  _ Little pieces _ , she told herself, taking in another breath. White shirt, gold buttons on the jacket... This wasn't the Wordsmith's favorite suit, she mused with a slight frown...

“You know, staring at it doesn't make the suit come off,” the demon said, smile growing as the Inquisitor's eyes darted up to her face, wide as saucers. Releasing the lapels of her friend's jacket, she grasped the arms of her chair, forcing herself to sit up as her face grew hot. Her hasty apology was brushed off as the demon simply smiled, slipping from the room. 

Reaching up with a shaking hand, she brushed her hair out of her face, frowning at the messy curls. Trembling fingers tried to brush through it, tugging and loosening the tangles as she fought to bring it under control. She must've looked terrible, dress wrinkled, hair everywhere, more stitched up than a twisted little rag doll...

She didn't even really remember when the cup of tea was pressed into her hand, blinking at it before taking a hesitant sip. The amber liquid washed over her tongue as she almost hummed, the honey sweetening it just right as she smiled to herself. This... This was just perfect...

“So... What happened?”

Okay, not so perfect.

Blue eyes opened, staring down into the mug in her hands as the Inquisitor tried to put it into words...

“... I was fired,” the Inquisitor said simply after a long silence, sipping at her tea quietly.

Red eyes stared at her blankly for several long minutes before blinking rapidly, trying to process this information. “I'm sorry... I must've heard wrong...  _ You _ , the sweetest little angel in the garrison, the Inquisitor, practically  _ incapable _ of defying orders...  _ You _ .... were  _ fired _ ?” At the Inquisitor's slight nod, she frowned deeply. “From what? Being an angel? I mean, the only way you can really be  _ fired _ would be if you...” The pieces slid into place suddenly as blue eyes looked away and that sadness—that  _ shame— _ was written there so clearly that she wondered why she hadn't seen it before. “Oh, angel...”

“It's nothing,” she said quietly, shaking her head as she looked down into her mug, refusing to look up. “It's just... 'good sense'...”

“Is _that_ what they called it?” the demon spat, frowning deeply before looking to her friend, watching her closely. “What happened?”

She got another shrug as the Inquisitor tried to piece it all together, frown deepening. “It's... not very clear... I have... parts missing... I remember... I was meeting up to give my report...”

_ They stood in a circle around her, tall and looming. Each of them watched her, dark, angry looks on their faces. She didn't understand, she was just reporting back on the things she'd been looking into, and she told them as such, over and over again. Something in their faces, the looks in their eyes, made her shudder as she tried to decide whether to run, to fight, or stand down. _

_ The soft ruffle of feathers whispered through the air as she pulled them in close to her back, bowing her head as she kept her gaze lowered. Something, anything to appease them, make them stop staring at her with those dark, judging looks... _

“It was all routine... Everything was fine, I was taking my studies seriously, I was fulfilling their inquests...”

“ _Leave it to the Inquisitor to go poking around in all the wrong places,” someone said, making her head perk up, turning to face her accuser._

“ _Only the Inquisitor could_ find _trouble in so simple a task as 'watch the humans'...” another said, laughter echoing around her as she turned again, her heart racing in her chest._

“ _I... I was only doing my job...” she said, trying to placate them as she knelt, bowing her head again. “Please, forgive me... I overstep, sirs... It will not happen again...”_

“... I walked right into their trap, and didn't see it until it was too late...” she murmured, tears welling up in her eyes as the memories flashed through her again and again, faster each time.

_ Hands grabbed her, yanking her up, grasping at her wings, holding them still and stretching them out. There were too many, she couldn't fight, not all of them, not like this. She tried to kick at them, to free herself so she could get away... _

_ The first bone crunched, and she didn't feel the pain for several long seconds as the wing was twisted the wrong way. Her scream would have shattered the windows in her loft if she were back home. Her struggles almost ceased at the second break, the agony stealing her breath before she could even get it back. She could faintly hear a choking sound and distantly realized that she was making those awful noises... _

“I guess I've always asked the wrong questions,” she said after a long silence, blinking through the tears as she forced herself to continue. “The kind of questions that... certain... powers that be... don't want asked...”

“ _Please,” she begged, unable to even cry any more. Her voice was hoarse, tears cooling on her cheeks as she slumped in their hold. Her wings fell back, twisting painfully, dislocated in their sockets. This was a pain like none she'd ever felt before—it echoed through all of her infinite being, and bounced back, growing and growing as stars danced across her vision. She didn't even know how she was still awake now, bloodied and bruised and broken beyond repair. “Please, sirs,” the Inquisitor croaked, swallowing what little was left of her broken pride, “it won't... h-happen... again... please...”_

“ _No, little bird,” one of them spat, a flash of light and the ring of metal cutting through the silence as she lifted her head slowly. “It won't. We'll make sure of it...” The look in his eyes was dark and cold, sending shivers through her as she looked from his shadowed face to the Angel blade he held in his hand. “Hold her down, gentlemen. We need an example for the others...”_

Wordsmith was quiet as the Inquisitor wiped at her tears, red eyes following to the line of bandages over the Inquisitor's shoulders as her frown deepened.  “... Those sigils, then... they're...”

“Binding,” the Inquisitor finished quietly, nodding as she set the mug of tea down on the short table between them. “As well as... other things... a warning, for those that... might sympathize... I am... not only fallen... I am... _disgraced_ , marked like some... vile beast!” she said, the words foul in her mouth as she spat them out. The anger that she'd suppressed in the shock of everything came bubbling forth, making her tremble with the fury that coursed through her. “I am... useless... I am trapped, stuck in this... this... _meat suit_ , unable to do anything about it! I have nowhere to go! My loft has been warded against me! _No one_ is even answering my calls on the, I dunno, _whatever_ the heck the Winchesters call it, _“angel radio”,_ because they all know that my superiors will come after them _next_ , and the _worst_ part is that... I... I can't even remember why...” 

Her tirade crumbled almost as quickly as it had come on, her shoulders slumping as she hid her face in her hands and cried. She remembered a couple tissues being pressed into her hands, only to be replaced again a few moments later, and finally the box placed in her lap as the demon let the angel have her cry. 

When her hiccups finally subsided, she wiped her eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat as the tears welled up again, though less quickly this time, blowing her nose before she sniffled. “I'm sorry, Wordsmith... I just... After... all that... I needed a drink... And you mentioned that bar was one of your favorites, and... it was near where they... dropped me... so I thought... it couldn't hurt...”

“I see,” Wordsmith said, still watching her friend closely. To be honest (well, as honest as a demon could really get), she wasn't really expecting all of _this_ when she'd decided to rescue her fine-feathered friend from the depths of the appletini she'd been drowning herself in. But now... “When did this happen?” she asked, brushing the Inquisitor's hair back out of her face again.

“I... I don't really remember... I know that I... I was in an emergency room...” she said quietly, frowning a little. “They wanted me to file a police report on the people that did... you know...” Thinking about the sigils made her stomach churn painfully, shaking her head as she tried to rush past it. “I got out of there as fast as I could... and then... found the bar...” 

“Why didn't you call me?” the demon asked, dark brows drawing close together as she frowned. “I could've helped... I could've done something at least...”

Her shrug was nonchalant, though her eyes turned sadder than the Wordsmith had ever seen them. “... I feel this body dying...” she breathed, slowly shaking her head. “All around me... I don't... I can't even stop it... I can't heal the damage they did to my vessel... My grace was... ripped from me... When this body dies, the way they bound me in these bones... I'll die with this body... I didn't want to... I didn't want to drag you into that... You're... You're my  _ friend... _ ”

Silence filled the room, the Inquisitor's tears falling as she simply pressed the tissues to her face and let the tears fall. Nothing she could do would stop this feeling of isolation, of loss and anguish that ripped through her. The pain echoed through her every time she moved, a cruel reminder that curiosity was her downfall, the questions she so loved to ask stripping her of everything...

A gentle hand on her head jerked her out of her thoughts, making her look up through teary eyes. The Wordsmith just gave her a small smile, ruffling her hair a little before reaching into her suit jacket. From the inner pocket, she pulled out a red and silver clip, holding it up so the Inquisitor could see the delicate shape, blinking in surprise. “O-oh! I... I have...” she started to say, reaching up to touch where her clip was always tucked in her hair, only to find it missing. Looking up at her friend in confusion, she frowned a little. “My... clip...” 

“It was broken,” the Wordsmith said. “I thought... maybe it's time for a new one...” Placing it in her hand, she closed the Inquisitor's fingers around it, smiling a little more. “You're not alone... And there's no need to give up just yet...”

  
  


_ How do I save you? _

_ How do I set you free? _

_ Behind the curtain  _

_ waits a darker world. _

_ If I can't make you leave, _

_ how can I save you from me? _

_ ~Save You _ by Emilie Autumn

 


End file.
